


The Tower of Babylon

by orphan_account



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakura could probably charm the skin off a snake, but Malik was not - and never would be - a snake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Us Confuse Their Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaosRocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosRocket/gifts).



> Bakura is alive and has his own body, just go with it folks.

"This looks—" Bakura ran his tongue on the underside of his teeth, the back of his neck prickling. He tilted his head, glancing in Isis' direction. "real."

"It's authentic," she said crisply. "Everything at this exhibit is an original, of course."

"Of course," he repeated, glancing back towards Malik. It didn't help; Malik only looked at him expectantly. Bristling, Bakura gave a slippery smile of discomfort, more tooth than anything else. "What?"

"What do you think?" Malik nodded at the tablet, and Bakura looked at it for a long moment, before squinting at Malik. "What?"

Was this what Malik wanted him here for? Pissing points against his sister? Malik should have asked first. Testily, Bakura huffed, "You do know I'm illiterate, right?"

Apparently Malik didn't even _believe_ him, given the arch look Malik shot him. Eyebrow raised, mouth quirked, bright eyes framed with sharp sweeps of kohl; even dressed up in a suit, Malik looked smug, and Bakura turned back to the tablet with an eyeroll.

"That's not an issue." As expected, Malik's sister pushed into the silence with all the grace, and weight of a diplomatic punch. "After _ _-__ all, the transcription _is_ accurate."

She gestured towards the placard, and Malik snorted: loud, rude, challenging. Amused, Bakura gently leant his weight back to study the two siblings with perverse interest.

Hands on hips, Isis glared at her brother. "Do you have a problem with _my_ translation, Malik?"

"You were always weak with strong verbs," he drawled. "Too bad you didn't ask me before—"

"Before the exhibit – _my_ exhibit - opened?" Isis demanded, and Bakura scratched the curve of his wrist, fidgeting with his cuff links. Well, Malik's cuff links, after-all, Bakura wouldn't be caught dead - very literally - with this suit get-up. Still, Malik would have trouble getting the gold cuff links back afterwards. "If you won't even consider a job here, I can hardly ask you for advice. There are rules _—_ "

"Fuck rules," Malik interrupted sharply, and the cuss drew Isis' expression into tight disapproval. Seeing it, Malik added, "it's your loyalty to rules that makes your translation so bad _—_ it's too cold. There's no feeling."

This was probably too far, Bakura supposed, because both siblings fell quiet. This was also probably where their brother normally stepped in, but where their titan of an elder brother was supposed to keep some semblance of peace, instead, Bakura was standing between the two.

"It's precise," Isis murmured, and Malik gave a nearly-agreeable grunt. With that, they moved to the next piece, Bakura awkwardly pinched between the two.

If Malik expected Bakura to fill in for Rishid, then he really should have invited Ryou. Manipulative bastard even had Bakura eating out of the palm of his hand more often than not. Not to mention, Ryou had actually been to this sort of event before.

Scuffing his new dress shoes on the floor, Bakura gave Malik a withering look before studying the new carving. This one he actually _understood _—__ a sand-worn dedication to Meretsegar, resplendent even with chalky feathers, and scales smoothed with time. Bakura ducked his head, and when he raised his eyes, Malik was looking at him with interest.

Baring his teeth, Bakura gave a ruffled shrug, flicking his hair back over his shoulder with a toss of his head. "I'm a lapsed worshipper, not a blasphemous one."

"And yet," Isis remarked bluntly, "you betrayed your Pharaoh. A living God."

There was an immediate rush of tension at the back of Bakura's throat, and he clenched his teeth—but what the hell did Malik's sister know of Gods? She had about as much respect for history, as she had for her own brother. Something patronizing, and self-professed, and _false_ , but honestly believed in.

She didn't know what she was talking about. She wasn't worth it.

So he laughed instead, letting the sound wring out his anger. "God? Really? He bled the same as a dog like me." Beside him, Malik gave a snigger.

Affronted, Isis folded her arms over her chest. "Don't encourage him, Malik."

"Yeah," Bakura tilted his head at Malik, eyes half-lidded. "Don't encourage me."

There was a delicious snap as Malik's mouth closed, laughter clamped between his teeth. Jerking his head at the carving, Malik looked away from Bakura. "Do you like it?"

It was more nostalgic than anything else. Or familiar. Something buried, and ancient, and brought out for a show a few thousand years later. Dressed in a suit, shoes tight around the arch of his feet, and a tie choking at his neck, Bakura was beginning to relate.

"Sure," he combed his fringe away from his face lazily, "why not?"

"I'll buy it for you," Malik decided.

Bakura gave a short bark of amusement. " _This_? Where would I even put it?"

"On your wall, in a cupboard _—_ I really don't care." Malik waved a hand dismissively. "Isis, who should I speak to?"

With a sense of growing - was it horror? Yes, it was definitely horror sloshing about in Bakura's stomach - Isis pointed out a spot in the crowd. "You see the gentleman with the blue—"

"The atrocious blue tiepin?" Malik asked, staring into the crowd and squinting like he was looking into the sun. Minus that addled-happy look that Malik _always_ got about the sun.

Isis nodded tightly, "Yes, but could you—"

"Not say it's a fucking ugly tiepin."

"If you can," Isis said sceptically. "That would be Ahmed of the—"

"Bahar Clan?" Malik asked, sounding even less enthusiastic. "Prick," he added.

"Prick he may be, but he is also my boss."

Her smile was surprisingly sympathetic. He must have been a really shitty boss, Bakura supposed.

"An Ishtar in the service of a Bahar." Malik's face crinkled distastefully. "Fucking hell," he sighed, letting his irritation leech out of his face. It was slow, full of reluctance, and Malik merely managed a disinterested bored look. "If you'll excuse me." he nodded at Bakura politely, before turning on his heel and cutting through the throng.

"I suppose that's the end of Malik's career in antiquities," Isis said mournfully, watching her brother approach the other man, and _immediately_ point at the tiepin.

"Career?" Bakura repeated incredulously. "He said he'd rather die than—Wait." Startling, Bakura looked away from Isis, eyebrows furrowing, "Is the asshole actually buying this?" Bakura jabbed a finger at the carving. "What the hell?"

"Please don't speak about my brother that way," Isis smoothed the her hands over her dress, fussing with imaginary creases, "and yes, he is," she gave Bakura a sidelong look, "you should be gracious about it; Malik thinks highly of you."

"It's got to be worth a _goddamn_ fortune."

"It is," Isis answered simply.

"Then he can't fucking buy it for me." Bakura frowned. "Do something about it."

"What would I do about it?" She tilted her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. For a moment, Isis looked so much like Malik, that Bakura could only blink at her. Settling into Bakura's silence, Isis said with a clipped, delicate tone that chipped away at Bakura's nerves, "My brother does what he likes, and he likes you. There's little I can do, believe me."

"Ah." Bakura's tongue felt almost numb in his mouth, and he stared away from Isis, instead looking up at the carving.

He had - it seemed - rather seriously misunderstood the purpose of Malik's invite. He was no more here for translation, than he was to peacekeep in Rishid's place. Apparently, he was here as Malik's _date_.

Digging his heel into the floor, and scuffing it moodily, Bakura considered the carving, the situation, the lack thereof. Folding his arms across his chest, Bakura straightened his posture, and finally - with one, last, foul-mouthed sigh - smiled generously at Isis, just as Malik pushed back towards them.

"I hate that man," Malik griped emphatically, pushing his hair away from his face. "At least that's taken care of."

"I hope I'm not fired." Isis looked past Bakura to frown at Malik. "I do actually enjoy my work, even if you won't..."

"I told him the fugly pin looked nice," Malik sneered. "Even though it's the shittiest thing I've seen in my life. Come on _—_ " he gestured to the next piece, "let's see how badly you mistranslated this one."

"Mistranslated? Just because we disagree doesn't mean I'm wrong—"

"Well, we can't _both_ be right."

"Only you see things in that black and white manner," Isis started coldly, "it's no wonder—"

"What about this?" Bakura didn't even pull a face, merely pointed delicately at the exhibit, cutting Isis off. "This is also from the Millennium Era?"

"Oh," she looked at Bakura oddly, eyebrow quavering with curiosity. "Yes, late Millennium Kingdom. Although, properly speaking it comes from Set's reign."

"Set's?" Bakura's eyebrows both raised, almost grinning but holding it back like the tide behind his teeth. "I don't know a lot about that time period, as I was. Ah—"

"Dead at the time?" Malik offered flatly.

"Yes, that," he chuckled, flashing the same smile at Malik, who merely cocked an eyebrow at him. Whatever, Malik could thank him later. Tipping his head at Isis, Bakura nodded at her. "I thought Set's reign wasn't Millennium."

"It's complicated," Malik immediately stated. "I'll go over it another time."

"Oh." Isis' gaze cut off away from them, "well, al-Busiri is here, and I'm sure he can adequately explain it..."

"Al-Busiri?" Malik repeated with disgust. "That man couldn't explain his own head out of his arse. You'd be better off knocking your head against a concrete wall."

Smoothly, Bakura curled a hand on Malik's elbow. "I can always do that later," he said peacefully, smiling at Malik who only squinted at him, before turning to Isis with a warm laugh, "I'm game," he declared. "Lead the way, Isis." 

* * *

Hooking a heel off her foot, balanced on Malik's arm, Isis gave a satisfied smile. "I thought tonight went _spectacularly_. You even spoke with Bahar again," Malik grunted in acknowledgement, supporting his sister as she took her other shoe off. "Thank you, Malik," She let go of his arm, "for being so- so—"

"Civil?" He guessed, tugging his tie loose.

"Yes," Isis smiled, scooping her shoes up. Her eyes lit on Bakura, "even you were so well-behaved." She laughed tiredly, "sorry, I've just come to expect something very different from you."

Bakura shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "What can I say? I'm unpredictable."

"I'll say," Malik added under his breath, and Bakura paused, unable to help himself from squinting at Malik. Despite Isis' glowing review, Malik's civility seemed closer to disinterest and apathy than anything else. Not even that; Malik looked irritated more than anything else.

Fucking ingrate, Bakura frowned.

"It was such a relief," Isis sighed. "When Rishid said he was busy, I was so worried." Bakura shot a sharp look in Malik's direction, and Malik fucking _shrugged_ at him. However there wasn't time to call Malik out, because a moment later, Isis curled her arms around Malik and closed him into a tight hug. "I shouldn't have worried."

"I'd worry about me," Malik teased, pressing his head into the crook of her neck.

The siblings eased into Arabic, speaking warmly to each other, and Bakura felt a flush heat in his throat. Twisting away, Bakura scuffed his shoes on the ground, opening the space between him and them. There was something personal about affection, almost unbearable, like pulling your hand away from a fire, and if Bakura did not understand what they said, then really he wasn't _meant_ to.

His feet still hurt in these awful shoes, anyway. Sooner he slipped away, sooner he could kick the damn things off.

"Bakura?" He wouldn't have turned back if it was Malik, but Isis he hadn't expected. Politely stopping, Bakura smiled unevenly at Isis as she unwound from her brother. "Are you leaving already? Malik and I were _—_ "

Malik looked like murder; it looked good on him, but Bakura had a feeling it would look less good on himself. Coughing, Bakura shook his head. "S'been a long evening."

"Oh," she looked between her brother and Bakura. "Well, we're in the country for a few more days. You should have dinner with us on the Friday." Bakura could feel his smile catch on his face, trapped between Malik's alarmed expression, and Isis' insistent one. "Oh it won't be so bad," she laughed. "You and—"

"Bakura and I have plans already," Malik interrupted pointedly.

"But not with all three of us," Isis frowned at her brother, eyebrows furrowed. "What about tomorrow? We have that reservation at RyuGin—"

"Reservation?" Bakura repeated, a healthy dose of it cluttering in the pit of his stomach.

Extremely healthy given Malik's pained expression. "It's for three, remember? And what would he even wear?"

"That won't matter," Isis smiled at Bakura, "and that suit works, doesn't it? He looks just fine."

"Well," Malik's gaze cut over Bakura, and losing his footing entirely, Bakura glared at Malik, "yes."

"Then we'll pick you up at nine," Isis told Bakura firmly.


	2. So That They Cannot Understand Each Other

Bakura picked up the tie between his fingers, holding it away from him like a particularly dangerous snake. Not even that. A snake, Bakura would have felt _much_ more comfortable handling. This, however, was something altogether much worse. After a long, resentful - but admittedly - considering moment, Bakura flicked the tie onto the counter and resumed scratching his fingers through his hair, tugging tangles out roughly as he did so.

"You look nice." Ryou slouched against the doorframe.

"You look like you could use my foot up your ass," Bakura snapped back, combing his fringe away from his face. As usual, Ryou's gaze didn't even flicker, and he took a long sip of tea. Scowling, Bakura eyed Ryou in the mirror. "What do you even want?"

"I thought the exhibit was yesterday." Ryou looked down at his cup, swirling the tea around for a moment, "not that I'm complaining. Whatever gets you out of my house."

"Jackass." Bakura rolled his eyes. He tugged at his collar, wrenching the top button loose. "You invited me here."

"You're not a vampire." Ryou snorted. "And it's not as though we could leave you roaming the world unsupervised."

"I thought I wasn't a vampire." He pulled at his collar again, eyed the tie, and looked away. "Whatever. Dinner with the Ishtars."

"Ishtars _—_ All three of them?" Ryou scratched at his messy ponytail, nose crinkled. "That'll go well."

"Fuck off."

"Eh." Ryou shrugged, took another gulp of tea and nodded at the tie on the counter. "I'm just sticking around to see you try, and put that thing on again." Baring his teeth, Bakura ignored Ryou. "I reckon you'll hang yourself first." Ryou smirked, before adding, "didn't Malik do it for you last time?"

"Goddamn." Bakura whipped round, glaring at Ryou. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Coolly, Ryou glanced at his drink, before tilting his head at Bakura. "Karma's a bitch, huh?" Ryou said, voice irritatingly even.

"I don't have time for this shit."

"Sucks for you." Ryou took another sip. Bakura wasn't even convinced he had any tea left, the little jerk. "So you're gonna be out this evening?"

Bakura folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. "Seems like."

Tilting his tea, Ryou inspected the dregs with a vague expression. "Maybe I'll have friends over." He tilted his head back, drinking the last of the tea, before wiping his mouth messily on the back of his hand. "Good luck with Malik's family." Ryou gave an awkward shrug, "for what it's worth, I mean that."

Bakura eyed the ceiling, "Yeah well _—_ " running his hand back through his hair, he pulled another tangle out, "I'm not doing it for them."

"No," Ryou agreed, pushing away from the doorway, and with one final commiserating look, padded down the corridor.

* * *

This was a trap, that much was obvious, but at least it was a trap that came with free dinner. It was that Bakura kept in mind, picking at an artfully arranged dish of sashimi. Despite his best efforts, it was hard to keep an appetite with Malik shooting him glares across the table, and Isis making expectant small talk, loading Bakura's own words with more weight than he had in him _—_ soaking wet.

And next to him, Rishid hadn't said _anything_ all evening.

"No, I don't drive," Bakura answered boredly, picking at his food again and deliberately turning the arrangement into a mess. Glancing at Rishid, he gave a wry smile. "Y'don't say much, do you?"

"No."

Bakura arched an eyebrow waiting for something further, but instead Malik leaned forward and hissed, "could you stop playing with your food?" His voice carried over the small area, but apparently you _could_ pay for discretion, because the serving staff gave no indication they had heard Malik's low growl.

"Malik," Isis admonished softly, elbowing her brother. Then she smiled sympathetically over the table at Bakura. "Have you had kaiseki before? It can be a little different if it's your first-time."

"He's _had_ kaiseki, Isis." Malik's mood turned on his sister readily, and Bakura had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling. Truthfully, he _hadn't_ had kaiseki before, but Malik's anger was just as likely to throw itself Bakura's way, so he left it, instead taking another bite of his food.

It was good food at least, although the arrangements were getting Bakura down. It was an irritating amount of ceremony, like insects digging under his skin. Scratching at his wrist, Bakura finally pushed the _mukouzuke_ dish away from him with noisy chime of porcelain. Both Malik and Isis startled, breaking out of their argument to look at Bakura. Hilarious, really, how clearly they were related, and a smile leaked onto Bakura's face. Never one to miss a beat, Isis nodded at Bakura, "so, Bakura, Malik hasn't told me what you do for work."

"I told you he doesn't," Malik corrected angrily.

Next to Bakura, he felt Rishid sigh _—_ not heard, but felt the great mountainous shape of Malik's shadowy brother breathe in, and breathe out with resignation. Tilting his head at Rishid, Bakura waited for Malik and Isis to become distracted before asking wryly: "Aren't you meant to stop them from getting like this?" Rishid lifted one shoulder, and Bakura's eyebrows furrowed, "Is this normal?" No shrug, just a faint glance, "No?" Rishid's head inclined. "Well, fuck me. What's up with him-  _them_ ," Bakura corrected himself, although honestly, it  _was_ Malik.

"I believe," Rishid said, taking as much annoying care with his words, as preparing the food had probably taken, "you are the issue."

"Me?" Bakura snapped, jabbing an elbow at Rishid. Bad idea: he might as well have elbowed a wall. Hissing, and rubbing his elbow, Bakura narrowed his eyes at Rishid, "I'm doing my fucking best here."

Rishid glanced at him, but returned his gaze to his siblings. By now, Malik had curled his hand into a fist on the table, and they were progressively talking over each other, voices straining as the discussion built furiously.

Turning fully in his seat to eye Rishid, Bakura's mouth set in a deadline, "we both know I'm full of it." Not even a flicker from Rishid, and Bakura sighed, looking away and watching Malik again. Between Malik's heat, and Isis' steel, the warmth of the other night seemed far away. Besides him, Rishid was  _silence_ given physical shape, and _—_ well, Rishid hadn't even attended the exhibit. Bakura had.

"Malik said you were sick," Bakura said softly.

"Ah." Now Rishid moved, shifting awkwardly. Bakura had the conversation between his teeth, and he smirked angrily. "I was."

"You're full of shit," Bakura scoffed. He scuffed his nails on the table for a moment, grimacing. He'd only turned up for Malik's sake, and not only was Malik knee-deep in his own teenaged bullshit, but Bakura was cutting through the delicate balance of the siblings. An element out of sorts, and displaced. He sighed, pushing back from the table.

"Bakura?" Isis. Again, talking when he expected Malik to.

"Bathroom," Bakura smiled at her winningly, then looked at Malik, sharing the smile around. "I'll be right back." Clumsily scuffling to his feet, Bakura patted a hand on Rishid's shoulder awkwardly.

The trouble with this pretentious restaurant wasn't its food, Bakura decided, trotting into the bathroom with a disgusted huff. The trouble was its floorplan. The entrance was far too visible, hell, Bakura was far too visible; Malik would catch him bolting easily. He combed his hair away from his face, looking around the room, and looking at the one window with resignation. Near the ceiling, narrow.

Bakura licked his teeth, shook his hands out to loosen his wrists, and with a grunt clambered onto the sink. He was halfway to freedom when the door of the bathroom swung open, followed by the immediate demand: "What the fuck are you doing?"

Already frozen, halfway squirmed through the window, and feeling it press against his hip bones, Bakura gave an enthusiastic snarl of anger. Looking back, and flicking his hair out of his eyes, he stared overhead at Malik, eyebrows furrowed. "Uh _—_ " Bakura twisted in the thin window, so he could look at Malik right-side up. "I _—_ " he looked back at the window he was fighting to climb out of. Frankly, he didn't have a good excuse for this, so instead he tossed his gaze back to Malik, wriggling slightly, "what do you mean?" Reaching for nonchalance as much as a good handhold.

Malik's mouth set in a scowl, "you're climbing out the bathroom window."

"Oh," Bakura looked back at the window, fussing more, "that."

Malik didn't say anything at first, apparently not dignifying that with a response, and merely set a hand on his hip and squinted at Bakura. It would be pretty hard to make being halfway out a window dignified, but the least Malik could do was say something. Halfway to biting out an insult, Malik finally, spoke up, folding his arms over his chest, "are you stuck?"

"Fuck no," Bakura snarled, almost spitting at Malik. "I know what I'm doing."

Offended, Bakura shifted until he was mostly out of the window, and Malik waved a hand, "geez, don't get so pissed off." He rolled his eyes, " _clearly_ you don't need help."

Moving back into the window proper, Bakura nodded, "I've done this kinda shit a million times," and he _had_ become stuck one or two times, granted, but he was far more experienced now.

"Yeah." Malik braced against the wall so he could watch Bakura comfortably. "Still haven't answered why you're doing this shit now."

"Dropped my cigarettes," Bakura decided roughly.

Malik raised an eyebrow, "and you're climbing out the window for them... because?"

"Didn't want you lot knowing I smoked."

"Bakura," he snorted, "you don't smoke."

"Never too late to start," Bakura hissed, twisting slightly to ease the pressure on one leg, and slipped another inch through.

Shaking his head, Malik gave an amused smirk, "no, you of all people don't smoke." Kicking one of his feet on the wall, Malik watched Bakura squirm for a few minutes, before huffing, "Bakura, we both know you're not a smoker." Bakura levelled a flat look at Malik, eyes narrowed. He gave another half-twist, feeling his position give a bit more, and kicked one foot around for the hold he'd seen before. "Of all the shit you could spout off, smoking is pretty fucking stupid. I know you better than that," Malik remarked airily, ignoring Bakura's annoyed scoff. Instead, watching him steadily, Malik's smirk faded. "You'd never breathe smoke in willingly; we both know what it reminds you of."

Stopping, Bakura pushed back into the bathroom to look at Malik again. Baring his teeth at Malik, expression tight, and face heated, Bakura growled at Malik, "don't you fucking bring that up." He could feel his heart somewhere in his throat, bleeding into his mouth, "I'll  _kill_ you if you do. I swear I will. Don't you talk about that _shit_ to me."

"Right." Malik held both hands up, surrendering the matter. "So why are you _—_ " Bakura yanked through the window, catching himself adroitly on a ledge. It was a lucky catch, but this had gone from awkward to unbearable in a brand new record for Malik. "The fuck, Bakura!" He yelled, there was the sound of Malik clambering violently onto the sink, before his face appeared in the window. "The fuck are you going!?"

"Literally anywhere else," Bakura tossed back, already beginning the silky climb down to the ground. By the time he reached it, Malik was trying to thrash through the window, "fucking hell _—_ " he laughed, tilting his head at Malik as he set both feet down. "You're gonna kill yourself like that!" He called up unhelpfully.

That window was a tight squeeze _—_ even for Bakura's skinny arse. Malik would at least waste a few minutes fighting with it, and by then, Bakura could make himself scarce. "Later, Ishtar." Bakura gave another skirl of laughter, waving up at Malik.

"Don't you _—_ " Malik was halfway through, and fighting for the ledge. "Bakura, get the fuck back here _—_ " there was a scraping noise as Malik failed to catch the wall with a foot, and it was followed by a yelp of panic.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bakura sighed, "stop flailing like a hooked fish, Malik."

"You're a fucking asshole," Malik yelled, voice seething. "When I get down there, I'm gonna rip your goddamn teeth out."

Bakura sighed. Maybe Malik was better off falling and breaking his neck.

"Left foot," he instead advised, "no your left. Keep it close the wall, move it towards you _-_ it's _—_ " despite Malik's burn of cussing, he followed Bakura's instruction, toe finally catching on the pane. "Alright, keep your- no, your arms, keep them inside the window _—_ "

Swearing, stumbling, and undeniably shitty at scaling buildings, Malik was finally left pressed against the wall. He was secure, but he was also shit for taking further instruction. He was stuck, Bakura realized with no little awe.

"Your advice sucks," Malik muttered.

"You're goddamn lousy at this," Bakura countered, marvelling at the situation. "How in the fuck were _you_ a thief?"

"I didn't commit petty crime!"

"Y'gotta know the basics," Bakura called up, tilting his head again. "Shit. Alright," he stepped closer to the building, circling slightly, and staring up at Malik, "Maybe if we _—_ "

"Fuck it," Malik declared. Somehow it was the least reassuring thing Bakura had heard all day. "I'm gonna jump."

He startled forward, almost throwing himself into the side of the building. "The hell? Are you an idiot? Don't fucking jump, you'll get h _—_ "

"Too late," Malik answered simply, and that was the warning Bakura had to prepare for fifty-five kilos of uncoordinated Malik dropping down onto him. The momentum broke, rolling and scraping on the floor, both of them yowling with pain.

Scrabbling for Malik's throat, or  _any_ soft, vulnerable part of him, Bakura lurched to a sitting position. Malik swayed against him, besides him, and then off him _—_ and then Bakura was pulled to his feet, both of them wobbling and growling. "I hate you." He could feel bruises just  _waiting_ under his skin. He laughed at Malik, voice prickling, "you're a jackass."

"What about you?" Malik staggered, and Bakura braced him. "You're the jackass." Malik's eyes were blazing, bright in the dark of the side-alley, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Apart from you dropping on my head _—_ " they scratched at each other, unsteady and trying to steady each other.

"Why are you hitting on my sister, or what the _—_ " Bakura laughed, cutting Malik off without meaning to, and Malik lurched away from him. They both went down with a single yelp, collapsing onto the ground. Still laughing breathlessly, Bakura curled his head against Malik's shoulder, "Does it hurt?" He brushed a hand into Bakura's hair, gold ring catching strands as he pressed his fingers against Bakura's head, feeling the swell of a bump.

"A lot," Bakura laughed. "Are you hurt?"

Malik scowled, fingers cragging in Bakura's hair. "You were just going to leave." If he sounded even half as furious, Malik would have been whining. "I never  _see_ you."

Pulling his head away, Bakura cupped Malik's face between his fingers, "you fell out of a  _building._ " He gave a wolfish grin, tilting Malik's face each way. There was a scrape above Malik's eyes that looked like it would line up with a few of Bakura's broken nails. "I'm not hitting on your sister."

"I know that," Malik groaned, pushing a hand against Bakura's shoulder until he let go of Malik. "You hate her. Why are you putting up with her shit?"

"Why aren't you?"

Their hands reached for each other again, neither of them on even footing, but still determined to help each other up. Leaning into each other, they stood, staring at each other. Malik looked like he was staring into the sun again; squinting, and smiling, and staring anyway. "You're meant to be on my side."

"I am on your side _—_ " Bakura was laughing again, unable to catch his breath, and Malik's smile died, splintering into a snarl. Quickly, Bakura gulped his laughter down, grinning unbearably, "why else would I have listened to that _—_ " he stopped. The name wasn't even on the tip of his tongue, he'd swallowed it.

"Al-Busiri," Malik supplied.

"Prick," Bakura spat. "They're all pricks. Don't take the job."

"You were meant to make them hate me."

"How was I supposed to know." He shook his head in disbelief. Buffer, Malik wanted him for buffer, and he'd thought Malik had asked him out. "You said Rishid was sick."

Malik had the grace to flush, "he did it as a favour."

"Next time, let me in on your plans." Gingerly, Bakura pushed back from Malik, finding his own footing. There was a situation, of course there was, that tolerant hum sinking under his skin was pretty far from mutual. "I don't know what you want _—_ "

"I definitely don't want you putting up with Isis' shit." Malik dropped his face into his hands. "Fuck _—_ " when he looked up again, there was a vivid anger curled on his face. "The way she talks _—_ "

"Don't make her like me _—_ I got it," Bakura agreed diplomatically. Humiliation crawling under his skin. He'd honestly thought _—_

"She  _doesn't_ like you." Malik's hands were on his shirt, the top button finally surrendering and popping loose. "She can't stand a thing about you."

That was uncalled for. Isis had been fairly taken in by Bakura's lies, in his personal opinion. Defensively, Bakura glared at Malik, "I thought I was doing pretty well..."

"She doesn't like  _you._ " Malik's eyes flickered, rolling. Fingers tightening in the mess that was Bakura's attempted tie. "Not you when you're- I want  _you_ , not someone my sister  _likes_. I _like_ you." In the weird silence between them, Malik pressed his face against Bakura's clumsily, tucking his head in the curve of Bakura's neck. "It's  _weird_ seeing you lie to me."

Bakura swallowed, patting his shoulder uncomfortably. "You know me better than that."

"You  _should_ know me better than this." Malik sighed against him, a heavy weight against Bakura's chest. Exhausted, exasperated, Malik stroked a hand against the small of Bakura's back. "Why in the hell did you even  _try_ to make nice with  _all_ those stuck-up jackasses? We were there for  _hours _—__ "

"I  _like_ you." He sounded wounded, felt wounded. Confessing like a spurt of blood.

Which turned out to be an  _incredibly_ awkward thing, because Malik immediately disentangled from him with a baffled-come-horrified expression. He probably would have gotten a better reaction if he had literally coated them both in blood.

"It's just a thing." Bakura's words felt like a scab he had to pick at, so he tried again, "but like for you. It's not a big deal. Don't make it a big deal _—_ "

"I just said I want you." Malik's eyebrows furrowed, as if he was unsure whether he was furious, or fascinated. "I asked you out to dinner. I asked you  _out_." Bakura snarled, burying his face in his hands and  _snarled_ , "Bakura _—_ " he looked up at Malik over his open palms, teeth gritting, face burning, "we're going on a  _date_ this  _Friday_."

"How was I supposed to know," Bakura yowled, reaching out to grab Malik's hands, shoulders, clawing at him. "We  _always_ go out for dinner." Not sure what to do, he dug his nails into Malik's face, and kissed him with a crushed whine. And there, strangely, Malik was the one laughing into his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the commission, Chaos. This was a real pleasure to work on; I love working with happy thiefship, so I should probably write it more often.


End file.
